I Used to be Dexter Morgan
by JosephBauers
Summary: A Dexter story that picks up where the TV series left off. Character Death. Spoiler. Violence. Adult language. There is an unexpected death. Dexter gets pulled back into his old life. Disclaimer: I don't own Dexter and am not making money from this. Please let me know what you think!
1. I Used to be Dexter Morgan

Chapter 1: I Used To Be Dexter Morgan

It is dawn but a thick fog shrouds the forest and blocks the sun. A large deer bends down and gently pulls at a shrub. The morning is silent except for the trickle of a small stream nearby. The deer walks another ten feet before a snare breaks both of its front legs. It flails violently.

I approach the injured animal with a long sharp knife in my right hand. I walk slowly, deliberately. The deer's movements become more urgent and spastic. Its eyes open wider. I am upon the animal.

I stab the deer and it quickly dies.

In my cabin I eat venison stew. The deer carcass is hanging on a hook nearby.

I used to be Dexter Morgan: brother, husband, father, protector of the innocent. Debra's death reminded me I was never worthy of a normal life. Now I am once again the evil that had emerged from that blood-soaked storage container so many years ago. I tried working in a lumberyard but death still followed me.

I remember sitting at the bar with my head down and taking an occasional swig from my beer. The place is filled with large men with reddened faces. It is loud. The few women in the bar have raspy smoker's voices and leathery skin. Three men I recognize from the lumberyard approach the bar to get more drinks. One notices me and elbows his two friends.

The biggest of the three men approaches me. He is in his forties and has a thick graying beard and hideous nicotine-stained teeth. He whispers into my ear.

"You clearly have no friends here, so why don't you follow us to my pick-up truck and we can give that city-slicker ass of yours a proper welcoming to our here neck of the woods."

A knife is being poked into my back. I am mildly annoyed that the blade has been pressed hard enough to pierce the skin. I feel a drop of blood drip down my back. I take another sip of my beer but don't acknowledge the man's presence.

"Listen…dip…shit You are going to be our date tonight! Now get off your chair or I'll show you what the rest of this knife feels like!"

I rise off the stool. The bartender gives me a look that says he doesn't approve of any of this, but what can he do? I shrug and hope that he doesn't remember my face. I put a five-dollar bill on the counter and tell him to keep the change.

The pickup truck is an ancient, mud-covered piece of shit but the engine works. I drive it to the man's house. He gave me directions, while he begged for his life. The three men lay under a tarp. A pool of undulating blood swishes back and forth with the movement of the vehicle.

In this isolated wilderness, I have no ocean and no boat-two more things I have left behind. Nevertheless, disposing of the bodies doesn't worry me. Most of these men have no families here. Many of them are worse than others I've killed in Miami. They brag about their heinous acts in hushed whispers. The more I try get away, the more evil seems to follow me.

When these men don't show for work, they will be replaced. Nobody will look for them. So I dig a shallow grave and dump in the hole an assortment of limbs, organs, torsos and heads. I smell my arms, ripe with fresh blood. My heart races and I feel the tension easing behind my eyes.

I drive to my newly acquired cabin, in my newly acquired pick-up truck. I never go back to work. They won't miss three workers but I know if I stay, more would be deserving of my knife before too long. Soon there would be an investigation.

And so I make the cabin my own. I kill and eat venison and let my memories rot away like those men's diced up corpses.


	2. Evil Travels

It is late afternoon in Buenos Aires. Harrison and Hannah sit in their hot city apartment. It has been 5 years since Hannah barely escaped from Miami. Her Spanish is okay and Harrison is fluent. But in the sweltering glow of the afternoon, they communicate languidly in English. Spanish in this kind of heat make her head hurt.

He still calls her mom.

He rarely talks about his father and when he does it is conversational rather than emotional. He speaks of his dad the same way he might tell Hannah what he learned in school. Hannah thanks God that the world crashed down before Harrison was old enough to feel betrayed and abandoned.

"I'm so boooored, mom! I feel like we spend so much time in this apartment. Can I go downstairs and play soccer with those kids?"

Hannah rolled her eyes and blew the hair out of her face.

"Those kids are older than you and this isn't a safe neighborhood. One has a knife, Harrison."

She points to the street below with a flick of her head. An older Argentinian boy was expertly handling a switchblade to impress a girl in a short sundress. It appeared to be working.

"Come on. Everybody has one of those." He pulls an identical knife from his pocket and begins to perform similar feats with less skill.

"You give me that right now! Why the hell would you need one of those?" she yells_. Like father like son_ she thinks to herself and feels guilty for thinking it. She swipes the knife from him in one lightning quick gesture.

He glares at her with those beautiful eyes that are so much like Dexter's. He glares at her with more anger than a ten-year-old should be able to express and the thought races through her mind once more. _Like father like son. _This time she also has a flashback of Dexter standing over her about to bring the knife down into her plastic-wrapped body. Her hand goes limp and he easily snatches the knife back.

"I am not going to spend my life in this fucking apartment! Do you have a problem with that, Hannah?" He roars.

"Don't call me that" she manages to whisper.

Harrison shakes his head and storms out of the apartment.

Hannah sits in the apartment, alone. The light slowly fades as early evening arrives. She is relieved when there is a light knock on the door. It sounds apologetic. She gets up, prepared to forgive but also feeling that the whole knife thing would have to be further discussed.

She unchains the door and turns the two deadbolts. The door is almost fully open before she realizes it's not Harrison. A man violently kicks the door inward, knocking Hannah down. She is instantly dazed and can feel blood drip from a cut over her eye.

Even in her weakened state, she instinctively lands a kick squarely in the man's groin. She pushes herself up to flee but is grabbed by a second man she hadn't seen.

The first man to force his way into the apartment shouts _PUTA_ and spits angrily on the floor. He regains his composure and punches Hannah in the stomach. She struggles for air. She knows she is losing. She is not afraid, however. She's never been afraid.

They are pinning her limbs on the floor when she sees Harrison enter the room. She still has use of her neck and she shakes her head at him, beseeching him to run. _Don't be a hero, Harrison. Run and call for help but get the hell out of here!_

But it is too late. She sees that harsh flicker in his eye, the sudden burning rage. He pulls out his knife and stabs one of the men in his neck and Hannah is soaked in warm blood. Harrisons pull out the knife and prepares to kill the next one.

Hannah spits the assailant's spurting blood out of her mouth and begs for Harrison to stop. Harrison looks at her confused. He has time to wonder what he could possibly be doing wrong, given the situation before a knife is thrust into his chest.

Hannah screams at the top of her lungs. She can tell that Harrison's life has ended before his head hits the ground. Those beautiful Dexter-like eyes stare at her for the last time. The man looks around the room at his dead partner at the dead boy and finally at the hysterical woman shouting profanities and sobbing. He runs out of the apartment.

With her last remaining energy, she hides the man's knife in the bottom of her sock drawer. She walks back to the front of the apartment and has time to wish that Dexter were still alive before she blacks out next to her dead son.


	3. Hannah and Jacob

Chapter 3: Hannah and Jacob

The summer heat in Buenos Aires is tolerable but the humidity is a bitch. There isn't a cloud in the sky but his clothes are soaked through. He curses under his breath every time a new stream of sweat drips down his back to the crack of his ass. He reads a newspaper without actually reading it. It's a German-language publication and he hasn't even realized it yet.

He drinks a local beer at a small table for two while surreptitiously watching businessmen scatter to air-conditioned office buildings. A young boy asks him for money in broken English so Jacob Elway holds the paper closer to his face to discourage the boy's efforts.

"I see you're still a good guy."

A woman's voice, a familiar voice addresses him from the other side of his German newspaper. He takes a look at her. She is still breathtaking. Despite the bags under Hannah's eyes and her reproachful glance, Jacob could see that the past five years have only increased her beauty.

He wants to strangle her to death in front of all of these Argentinian businessmen.

Instead of doing this, he continues to pretend-read his paper. He takes deep breaths to calm down. He attempts to swallow his pride, to forget his waking up on a bus in butt-fucking-Egypt, confused and disoriented. He tries to forget the way he had regained his composure and realized that some half-witted criminal bitch had bested him at his own game.

As if reading his mind she says, "You didn't give me a choice, you have to understand that. I felt kind of bad, but a girl has to survive, right?"

Jacob grips the paper tighter until his hands tremble. He slams it down and looks at her hard. "To hell with your apologetic bullshit! I am the law! You don't say sorry to me, you understand? I don't need pity from Hannah Fucking McKay!"

The beer falls off the table and shatters.

She calmly stares at him. "Are you done having your tantrum now?"

"You got some nerve, honey." He has more to say, so much more to say, but the words get stuck. It's as if so many profanities and hateful slurs are trying to cram through the same narrow opening that nothing can escape.

He settles for slamming his fist on the table. He feels better. The entire café looks on in shock and anticipation but the show is over.

"Can I buy you a drink, Miss McKay?"

"No thank you. Are you clear on the conditions of our deal?"

"I don't know all of the details but I'm willing to do what I can."

Hannah discreetly removes a gallon-sized zip-lock baggie from her purse. She reaches under the table and hands it to him. He looks at the blood-crusted knife sitting in his lap. He wasn't directly told who died but he has a pretty good idea. He shudders and pictures his 12-year-old nephew shooting free-throws without a care in the world.

"How do I know you won't back out on our deal?" Jacob asks.

Hannah shrugs her shoulders. "You don't know that. You and I both know that my word will mean shit to you. All I can say is that this is very important to me. And I can already tell that you are holding up your end because there aren't undercover agents swarming this place right now."

Jacob shakes his head. Not in a thousand years did he think he'd ever be working for Hannah McKay. But if everything worked out, he'd be quite a bit richer and he had a tough time saying no to that.


	4. Chapter 4

"Prepared to Die"

My whole body shakes. I can feel my bowels liquefying. My own body is killing me from within more effectively than any serial killer ever could. I force myself outside where four inches of snow cover the ground and gusts of wind rip through the trees. I hope the harsh cold can cool my sizzling skin. If I don't break this fever, I am in trouble.

I consider a hospital but quickly dismiss the idea. I used to be Dexter Morgan but now I am a ghost. Dying now would be fine. Any part of me worth saving has been dead since Deb took her last machine-assisted breath. When I'm gone, the world will be the same.

I open my shirt and let the cold hit my bare skin. I count to one hundred and go back inside. The misery follows me. My organs feel like mush. I chew on some snow and hope it won't come back up.

I close my eyes and when I open them, I see Deborah in front of me. She is initially ghostly and dream-like. I blink and she comes into full focus. I smell her perfume mixed with the scent of hotdogs. She is wearing her Lieutenant's uniform. Seemingly unconcerned with my condition, she reads a Guns and Ammo magazine left here by the recently deceased owner of the cabin.

"I really miss my fucking guns," she mutters to herself.

She looks at me and smirks. I try my best to return a smile and fail.

"You don't have to fake happiness around me, bro. Just be your regular sociopathic self."

I close my eyes for a moment and force myself into a sitting position.

"I never had to pretend around you, Deb. Whatever my version of happiness was I didn't have to fake with you."

She examines my face, attempting to see if I'm being sincere. She joins me on the bed to get a better look. She smirks again and kisses me softly on the cheek. I smell beer on her breath.

"I love you too, Dex."

She gazes into my eyes for a moment and then shoots back up to her feet.

"This is a really shitty existence up here. Did you really hate your old life so badly you had to travel to the coldest, most depressing place you could find? Jesus!"

"This is what I deserve."

Deb shrugs and remains silent. The wind screams past the cabin. The dull choppy glow of a candle makes everything flicker.

"Are you here to share your wisdom like Harry used to do?" I ask.

"Do you want wisdom from me?"

"I don't know. I guess if you had some for me I would hear you out."

She sits back down on the bed and caresses my cheek. She blows a heavy sigh over my head.

"I think Harrison deserves a father, even one as fucked up as you. I mean Hannah can eat shit and die for all I care but I think you owe it to the world to make sure your own fucking kid is okay."

I want to tell her all of the reasons why this is a bad idea but I don't have the strength. I use my remaining energy to step outside and spew stomach acid onto the snow. I return, expecting Deborah to have disappeared. Instead she lies on the bed once again reading Guns and Ammo. She puts it down and looks into my eyes.

"You know dad had a choice. He could have turned you in. He could have killed you himself. He might have been repulsed by what you were but he left you in this world. He loved you, Dexter. Do you think he'd like seeing you hiding in the woods, neglecting your family?"

I have no answer for Deborah before she is gone. I wake up the next morning, fully recovered. The room smells like my illness and I go outside to escape the stench. Despite the cold, the day is as bright as a Miami afternoon. I squint until I can imagine the beach and the ocean in front of me. I bet the late Dr. Vogel could write an entire book on the monster's ability to feel nostalgia.

I begin to reason with myself. Danger follows Hannah in the way it follows me. Perhaps together we are a bit better, less dangerous. I think our love might even pacify my dark passenger that demands new victims and fresh blood. Perhaps I was too rash to think that I had to leave this world. For the first time I consider the fact my family might need me.

I begin to rethink my future.


	5. Chapter 5

"The Investigation Begins"

Hannah had moved after the incident. She would have no problem identifying the man that had stabbed Harrison. If she knew this, so did the perpetrator. There is a good chance he is hunting her the same time she is hunting him. So for the third time since moving to Argentina she had picked up and relocated. Out of convenience, she lives with Elway. She hates to admit it, but she finds his presence comforting, not just because he agreed to help her. She also trusts him. Of course he will turn her into the authorities the first chance he gets. Nevertheless, he appears to be a man of his word. For now, they cooperate.

Elway spends his time feeling out the area. He searches for a way to access criminal records outside of his jurisdiction. He has a great set of prints, scanned and ready. If he finds a way to the local criminal database Hannah can walk up to the man's front door.

With the help of a computer and Hannah's recollections, he was able to print out a picture of what the man looks like. Black hair, well-groomed beard. His two most obvious features are his unlikely pale blue eyes and a cauliflower ear. Elway can't believe that this arrogant fuck hadn't even worn a mask. But this fact had helped him to start a potential profile on the attacker.

He could have been dumb. Maybe they don't have CSI Buenos Aires on TV down here and this punk didn't realize just how efficient law enforcement has become. He is hoping this is the case because it would make his life a lot easier. Chances are if he is that dumb, he has a traceable record.

He could be ruthless. Perhaps he and his partner had intended to kill anyone that saw their faces. If this is the case Hannah certainly has reason to worry about her safety. The way he bolted out of the apartment indicates he is not a ruthless professional, however.

If Elway had to put money on this situation, he'd say these were low-rank sex traffickers tasked with abducting vulnerable women and children. He imagines that a lot of money has changed hands between the traffickers and the local police. If that were true, he could probably burn his fingerprints pictures now. The second the wrong detective discovered to whom the prints belonged, Elway could be in deep shit.

Elway puts on his suit jacket, despite the humidity. He feels more efficient and alert when he's formally dressed.

"I'm going to your old street to see if I can find this guy."

"You've been doing that for weeks." Her comment is an innocent one, merely an observation.

"I know. It's a big fucking city."

"Do you think you'll ever be able to find this guy?"

"Let me ask you something, did you think the investigators were thorough with your investigation?"

Hannah hadn't thought about this. She'd been so wary of cops for so long that she'd been unable to look them in the eye, let alone give them a full eyewitness account. She assumed that there was a picture of her posted on a corkboard somewhere in Argentina and she didn't want them to have extra time to put things together. So to answer Elway's question she shrugs.

"Murder investigations are a big deal, don't you think? This isn't your first rodeo, Miss McKay."

She is annoyed at his persistence in calling her Miss McKay. It's so obvious he is being a sarcastic prick. She refuses to react negatively because then he'd keep poking at the wound. The implications of his comment are also infuriating, yet true. She knows better than anyone how it feels to have an entire law enforcement agency focusing its resources on someone.

"You know very well that I tried to get those cops out of here as quickly as possible. And you know why. Do you have a reason for bugging me about this or are you just being an asshole?"

He puts up a hand in surrender. He knows exactly how to push her buttons whether she's been reacting or not but for the time being he's trying to be serious.

"I think they did a shitty job and it had nothing to do with you. I know you hid that knife for your own twisted reasons but that guy's DNA would be everywhere. And then there was his partner in crime. You mean to tell me that couldn't locate every man that this guy has so much as talked to over the past ten years?"

She knows that this is all true. She is not sure what it means. She doesn't know whether she wants to know. Nevertheless, she thinks that Elway has a good idea and that is all that matters.

"Yeah, the cops were pretty shitty."

"…kind of like they recognized the MO somehow and knew the answers to the questions before you opened your mouth?"

She nods in agreement. She is hopeful that this will help Elway to find the bastard but part of her fears this might be a step in the wrong direction. She begins to let the fact sink in: the police would be very little help in finding the right guy.

"I think that you might be looking for a while. Big fucking city, right? Why don't you bring me along? Maybe we can bait this guy"

With a big, sincere grin plastered on his face Elway says, "Miss McKay, I thought you would never ask."

Hannah instantly feels a new sense of control. She knew she had needed outside help. She wasn't an investigator and she was attempting to maintain a low profile. Nevertheless, her frustration with Elway is continuing to grow. She knows that Dexter would have cut off this criminal's head by now. But instead she has to be murderer bait.

"Let's do it then, and if you call me Miss McKay one more time, you won't wake up in the morning."

She walks back to the bedroom to get dressed, so she could return to her old neighborhood.


End file.
